Opie's Sister
by ObsidianDragons
Summary: Opie Winston has a younger sister, who he tries to protect from SAMCRO and those who wish to harm her to get to him. After 8 years away at college will Hazel obediently fall back into the rules set for her when she was 16 or will she try to break free from the grip the club has on her? How will Ope react when he gets out of county & realizes she isn't an innocent girl anymore?
1. Prolgue

Prologue – Opie's sister

The last four years had been a whirlwind of studying and regular exams and if she was being truly honest drinking, partying and crazy all-nighters. Med –school had been hard work, something Grace didn't shy away from but after working to her full capacity to prove herself, she was looking forward to a long break before searching for an internship.

After Grace's graduation, the wild party and then the horrendous morning that followed, she was more than ready to relax. However, today the rental agreement ran out, so leaving was important if she didn't want to pay another month's fee. Without reminiscing, she packed up the stuff that she needed and left all the crap she had accumulated over the years forlorn in the trash cans framing her porch. With a surprisingly heavy bag of essentials (which included her battered laptop; important documents; all of her clothes and shoes; money; a couple of packs of instant noodles; her overnight kit; a half consumed bottle of Jack Daniel's and a small first aid kit) hoisted over her toned shoulders she straddled her vintage style motorcycle, sighing as her body moulded to the familiar leather of the worn saddle.

The journey from Washington D.C back to her home town of Charming, CA took the best part of two days. The hours with the wind coursing through her tangle of brunette curls allowed her to establish what she was going to do when she got back. Her older hulk-of-a-brother, Harry Winston, or 'Opie' as he was more commonly known, had just been released after serving a 5 year stint at county. Due to the fact she was miles and miles from where he was incarcerated she couldn't visit him as much as she wanted but she kept a constant flurry of letters being regularly exchanging between them. Despite the distance spanning the miles forcing them apart Opie and Grace were closer than they had ever been. Away from the MC, Ope was different; he lost all his bravado which Hazel found so comforting in times of worry. Through his letters the cracks in his life were unavoidably evident like the imperfections only seen when something is under intense scrutiny. His written words served testament to the pull of loyalty from the club and his brothers and the echo of reality, a constant summons in the recesses of his skull.

Grace would have loved to say that after the 5 years of pen to paper Opie knew her better but that would have been a lie. All the while Opie was illuminating the darkest caverns of his soul, Grace, wanting to stop him from worrying, told him what she believed would set his mind at ease. Granted, Grace hadn't really gone off the rails: she'd kept her class work to its usual high standard and remained off of the radar of the authorities. However, the way she had lived for the last 4 years would hardly be acceptable according to her over-protective brother.

Growing up in SAMCRO wasn't all that would be expected; as a child and well into her teens, she was shielded from all the shit that went down in the MC. There was no underage drinking or smoking and Grace wasn't allowed to roll up at the infamous parties that frequented the clubhouse. Although her childhood was normal in terms of not being involved in adult activities, by the standards of fellow teens, her life in Charming had been one where Grace's lack of permission to go out with friends just to hang out at the park all came down to one important but annoying factor: she was a target. A target for anyone the Sons had pissed off- a direct method of retaliation. That single fact was the bane of her existence – a plague sent to punish her. The special measures instated by the brothers were non-negotiable, Clay made that pretty obvious she remembered as she thought back to the last 10 years.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1:

In the centre of the timber-clad room rose a solid oaken table embellished but the reaper, his twisted grin etched into the surface. Surrounding their emblem the congregation of leather-cladded anarchists began their shit straightening session.

"First order of business," Clay, the president, a surprisingly muscular but aging member of the Sons of Anarchy, First 9, made himself audible.

"Grace." Opie quickly interjected. "She ain't safe." His dulcet tones permeated the attentive silence.

A look of confusion clouded the old man's face: "What?" The room's attentions were solely focuses on Ope, just as interested as Clay to hear their brother out.

"She's a risk, a target. Anyone wants to get to me or SAMCRO, all they have to do is take her, beat her up," Opie swallowed at the thought, it made him sick to his stomach, " they could rape her, murder her to take revenge on the MC." After scouring the god-awful possibilities of what some sick fuck could do to his baby sister, he added quietly, "I can't take that risk-she means too much."

What preceded the bearded giant's statement was a brief period of weighty silence with an underlying atmosphere that was protectively aggressive.

"Ope," Jax explained, "we understand, she's like a sister to me, to all of us." Opie Winston nodded respectfully, knowing full well the words John Teller's son spoke were heart-felt. "The question ain't if the Sons will protect Grace – it's how we go about it. Grace's your sister, we're your brothers, that means we're family and we protect our own." Jax concluded.

"Aye, Jacky boy's right." Declared the Scotsman with curved scars adorning his pale cheeks. Showing their support of this statement, the other brothers let out a ripple of affirming grunts and murmurings which once reaching a cacophonous level was met by the raising of Clay's arthritic hand which was festooned with numerous pieces of steel, silver and gold. This action merited an instantaneous cease in vocal action. With a moment of silence sustained longer than necessary as all had been focusing on the president for a little over 30 seconds, Clay swivelled to face Piney, Grace's father. True to his nature, Piney Winston had avoided contributing to the ruckus of violent threats directed at some invisible foe. Although, his face did not exhibit its usual disconnected expression; breaking from his emotionally isolated and silently thoughtful persona was the wild look which churned within his glowing eyes (the only feature lit up in his dead face). His pupils exuded a beam of unadulterated madness which danced across the glaze coating his eyeballs.

"Nothing is to happen to her." He spoke, his gravelly voice identifying him as a chain smoker though the oxygen tubes feeding his lungs through his nostrils made it obvious that was in days of misspent youth. His answer being somewhat open for interpretation, Piney Winston clarified: "I don't care how it's done," he sighed the full weight of the potential risks crushing his wrinkled shoulders, "but she has to be safe –at all times."

Following his father's lead, Opie started laying down the law: "She's most at risk when she ain't with us. At school, when she's out by herself or with friends." Opie started to run off other information which would help the brothers decide the special measures.

When the Sons had established what came to be known as the 'Ten Commandments', Grace was pulled into church through ominous leather coated doors. Intimidated by the oval of faces observing her she stood with her petite frame flush to the only exit. She shrank back even further under the scrutiny of Clay's glare. She could tell he wasn't impressed, his quick wordless command to her brother told her that. Opie was more than a little embarrassed at his sister's behaviour and swiftly dragged her towards the polished oaken table dominating the room. As she wasnt a son, she couldn't sit, so she stood awkwardly behind her brother even though Grace found her father's presence more comforting, as the only way to escape was closer to Opie than Piney (he was sat on the opposite side of the table).

"You're here 'cause you're not safe and SAMCRO is puttin' in special measures." Clay spoke loudly, the authoritative tone rich in his voice.

"Sorry?" Grace's face contorted to form an expression of confusion.

"You're a prime target – enemies of the MC, enemies of your brother, your father." The president sighed as if he was explaining a ridiculously simple concept to a child that was too stupid to understand.

Not missing a beat, Grace questioned the aging man further, "Special measures?".

"Ten rules, non-negotiable," Grace nodded slowly, hesitantly wanting more.

Tig Trager, Clay's Sargent at arms began: "Rule one: you go nowhere without a Son accompanying you." Upon hearing this she sighed at 16 she wanted some privacy.

Ignoring her passive objection, the man of mayhem continued, "Two – no straying from your normal week to week routine without permission from the president, your brother and father collectively. That means you go to school, come back and do nothing abnormal in between leaving home and getting to school or leaving school and getting home." Tig now turned and looked up at the young teen stood to his right.

"Does that mean I can't do afterschool activities or go out on weekends?" Grace asked perplexed due to the strict nature of the rules.

"You're not allowed to do stuff after school or at weekends without Piney, Ope and Clay's say so. Understand, doll." Trager raised a bushy black eyebrow.

"Yes." She stated simply.

"Brilliant. Third rule," Chibs swiftly took over the briefing wanting this to be over. "You cannee sleep anywhere that ain't Son's approved. You can only stay at Ope's, Piney's, Clay's or the clubhouse – only."

Grace nodded, knowing argument was futile, when Clay said non-negotiable, he meant it.

"Four," the youngish Scot continued, "at school or any other event where a brother cannee be, ye check in every two hours – on the hour. Aye?"

Once more nodding, Hazel's hopes of a life without constant monitoring seemed accomplishable.

Following the pattern of two rules per Son, Bobby who in his spare time performed an Elvis tribute act was handed the baton by Chibs Teleford. "Rule five," he sighed inwardly as he saw her useful face fall further as the level of oppression was raised. "As soon as you're old enough, you'll carry a gun at all times (unless specifically told otherwise)."

At this point Grace's feet were starting to ache as she hadn't moved them in a while. Discreetly, she shifted her stance silently willing the anarchists to finish their stream of oppressive regulations.

"Six, every other day, you'll come to Teller Morrow after school and in turn each of the Sons will teach ya something we think ya need to know." As Bobby let out his final rule his weary eyes lost their dying glowing, aging his face an unnecessary 10 years. Hearing his inaudible frustration and pity Grace removed her eyes from her well-loved DMs which up until this point had been greatly interesting, forcing herself to meet his concerned features then drawing her lips into a terse upwards curve, causing the light in his eyes to be restored by her affirming gesture.

As the relay of spokespersons continued, Otto Delany pressed on with the regulations; "The seventh rule states – you must always have a pack of essentials on or near your person in case we need to pull you out for a couple o'days." Through his one good eye, Otto meet her cascade of hair which covered her face that receded to frame her face when she drew her eyes just short of level with Otto's. "Understand?" His monocular sight and tone radiated an air of patronisation.

Tempted to answer with a witty and sarcastic response, "of course n…" Piney's raised eyebrows screamed volumes – the very gesture embodying 'shut the fuck up now, you're getting into deep shit'. So she changed her tack and attempted to disguise the richly sarcastic tone by adopting a more respectful one, "now, as you've explained it to me." What she hopped would pass as non-purposeful cheek still echoed in her ears as what she was sure every cut-sporting individual heard too: pure, unadulterated rudeness.

Contrary to the expected backlash Otto continued a slight undertone of irritation, "Eight, no boys."

Grace's previously docile and almost lethargic front collapsed as her head snapped to meet Clay's face, raising an irritated eyebrow.

"What can I say, guess someone wants that virgin pussy on lockdown." Clay stated his hands raised in mock surrender, a dirty smirk defiling his face. The men surrounding the oak let loose throaty chuckles whilst Piney and Ope stayed icily silent.

Grace was done being passive, "Oh Clay, this pussy may be tight but it sure as hell ain't virginal." Seeing the shock broadcasted across Opie's eyes gave her a childish delight in her revenge so she took the comment further in an attempt to rebel against his rules. "Tig," she began, drawing his immediate attention to her, his face slightly alarmed at the mischievous sparkle that danced across her features "would be able to confirm that, especially after last night." The ecstasy Opie's rage brought her catalysed what occurred next.

"You were great babe." For dramatic effect she blew him a kiss, leaning forwards deliberately giving him a good view of her rack.

This rebellious action and Trager's subsequent adjustment of his package threw Opie Winston over the edge. Swiftly, he rose from his chair and kicked it backwards his anger visibly vibrating under his skin. With a ring incrusted hand he grabbed Hazel by the back of the neck and forcefully pushed her onto the table. Before she had time to react the rounds of laughter had ceased and the Sons were all staring at Ope as he began to unbuckle his plain but thick leather belt. Finally realising he meant to hit her she cowered in fear – Ope had threatened her with the belt on several occasions before but he had never actually hit her.

Before the first blow could land a deep voice stabbed the silence "OPIE!", everyone turned to the head of the table as Clay continued, "we'll sort this out after – let me finish the rules first." Hesitantly Opie nodded withdrawing his left hand from the base of Hazel's neck and reclaiming his seat at the table.

The silence that surrounded Grace increased her shame tenfold as she pulled herself upright, adjusting her clothing and wiping the blood from her busted lip where she'd smacked her face against the meeting room table.

"Calmed down now princess?" Clay asked slightly shocked at her outburst which was unlike her. Her face flushed a deeper crimson as she straightened her back, wringing her hands nervously and was forced to stand directly in between Opie and Chibs.

"Yes." Grace breathed, a slight nod accompanying her whisper.

"Good, we'll finished up. Rule nine – do exactly what you are told by any of the Sons or affiliates. That includes Gemma and the mechanics at TM." His eyebrows dared her to challenge him.

Having been done with her rebellion she merely nodded trying to avoid any reoccurrence of the drama that had just disrupted the room.

"Final rule: you don't follow any of these rules, your ass is in trouble. Your brother, father and I will collectively decide what to do with you believe me when I say this – we won't go lightly on ya girl."

Otto, Morrow's VP spoke: "Okay boys, think she gets it, clear out." Grace turned relieved as the very sentiment as she rushed for the door. "Not you, sweet cheeks."

Hazel froze, 30cm from the leather gates of freedom. The men filed out nudging her as they strolled towards the prospect-manned bar.

As he walked out Bobby quickly gave her hand a discreet reassuring squeeze. The doors slammed shut.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

As she cruised at speed passing the cages on highway, Grace played over what had happened after she was told the rules. The memory wasn't pleasant. She felt more ashamed of how she had made Opie feel more than anything else.

"Move." Clay spoke first.

"Where to?" Grace replied, annoyed by her own passive nature. At the situation in front of her she couldn't help but think of an oppressive occurrence where one party said 'jump' and the other 'how high'.

Otto and Clay both smirked – she was learning. Clay raised his arm pointing at the seat directly opposite at the end of the reaper embellished table. Grace moved swiftly, her long legs aiding her desire to speed up this encounter. She remained stood behind the chair whilst the meeting of sorts continued.

"I'm sure Opie has some shit to say to you, so I'm gonna make this quick." Otto had no irritation in his tone just an almost disappointed undercurrent throughout.

He continued: "The way you spoke to me," he paused, "fucking rude. I don't care who you are or how old you are, learn some respect for the cut. I see or hear of you ever doing something like that again and I'll beat some sense into you." Otto's speech was sincere.

"I understand, I'm sorry." Otto nodded neither doubting nor wholly believing her statement.

After a brief period of nothing but audible breathing Clay interjected: "You can show Delany how sorry you are by helping him at home while Luanne's busy, ya understand?"

Grace nodded demurely, an action which sharply contrasted with her previous dubious antics.

"You start tomorrow – be there at 7am. You'll continue until Otto's forgiven you."

Again, she nodded, willing this to be over. With her confirmation that she fully understood her penance, Vice and President made their way to join the other Sons at the bar.

Once left in the room with her immediate family Grace felt more tense than previous. Both men refused to even look at her.

The sound of her father's voice tore at the silence: "Do what you have to." Not once did he look in Grace's direction until he had his left palm against the chapel's doors.

"You disappoint me – who even are you?" With a quick glance to her eyes he shuffled out.

A solitary teardrop journeyed south leaving residual moisture in its wake. Knowing no lash could rival the sting of her father's words gave her a raw impulsive emotion which could only result in destructive behaviour. An outsider would mistake it for bravery but both Opie and Grace could feel it, the palpable tension and buzzing of self-directed rage.

Strengthened in her self-hate, Grace ambled forwards. She tied her unruly curls back then placed her palms which were now slick with nervousness onto the polished surface in front of her.

Sighing, Opie spoke, "Grace."

"Just get it over with." She breathed hotly.

"I'm not going to hit you." Ope's voice was full of guilt from the way he treated her at the table earlier.

"Yes, you are." Her statement shocked Mr Winston the younger, it was all he could do to keep listening. "I deserve this, after what I did."

Again, he said: "Grace, I'm not going to hit you." His response coupled with an expression of reassurance.

"Yes, you are." She repeated cryptically as she stood to her full height and speed marched out of SAMCRO's chapel. Through the doors that opened and closed, fluttering on their hinges due to the force exerted on them. As they swung Opie saw a collection of short clips which depicted Grace leaning in and making out with a surprised Alex Trager.

Once again, fury blinded him as he strode into the highly populated bar. As predicted, the action had the exact effect on Opie that she'd thought.

As soon as he reached her, his huge hands grabbed her shoulders dragging her away from Tig. Automatically, his heavy hand impacted against the right side of her face, splitting the skin that resided on her cheekbone. The force of his slap sent Grace reeling to the floor. Before she could pick herself up, Opie hauled her by her ponytail across the room and threw her body over the pool table. Grace's face impacted against the green surface, splitting her eyebrow. With the wind knocked out of her, Grace focused on trying to breathe rather than escaping her well-deserved brother's wrath. For the second time in that evening Opie Winston fully removed his belt. However, this time no one present interrupted Ope and the first smarting blow struck true without Clay's raised tones to prevent it. The blows continued to rain down upon her hitting their target every time. Grace was adamant, she wasn't going to cry.

Just as Grace though the punishment would never end it suddenly did; she turned wondering why only to see Opie's raised belt and her father's hand locked around the wrist that wielded it.

"Enough." Piney simply stated. Automatically, Opie lowered his arm, dropped the implement and promptly walked into the parking lot as soon as their father released him. As he left, Grace could see a sheen forming in his eyes before he drew a sleeve across his face, instantly restoring his stoney façade.

Grace removed herself from the pool table amidst a sea of faces all focused on her. Walking had become considerably more difficult than previous but none the less she pushed on. Her father remained where he stood his wheezy breathing painfully comforting and familiar.

Struggling towards him she whispered: "Forgive me."

At the lack of response Grace worried that her father could not find it in himself to do so. However the almost silent sentiment was returned with a light touch of his hand as she walked past combined with an equally discreet "Always."

That one word almost caused her to collapse in shame, she did not deserve to be forgiven so quickly after what she had done today. She vowed to herself that day – she would never disappoint her father.

It's a pity things never go to plan…

What had occurred in the bar was winding down surprisingly quickly considering what had happened just shy of 5 minutes ago. With the aid of Clay's warning glares and unspoken threats most of the club members swivelled round and returned to what had occupied them before the unexpected, high-tension display had taken place. Although the majority of the guys had managed to find an activity to participate in, Grace still had not moved from the spot her father had previously inhabited. The shock of the last half an hour had caused her to lose herself within the multitudes of her thoughts, resulting in her remaining static paired with a vacant look in her eyes.

However, this state of disconnection was soon severed by a rough, aged palm placed on her tensed shoulder. As she turned she could see the condescending smirk was lost from his face and his eyes looked as if they never could have displayed the anger and coldness they once had, as his once raucous tones fell to soft phrases, Clay spoke: "You're coming home with me tonight."

Clay even managed to shock himself with the docility of his words and timbre, searching his mind for a reason, a justification until he realised that what she had just done had earned her his respect. In his mind he analysed what she'd done. Clay respected Grace as she didn't run from punishment – she, a 16 year old girl, took what came her way like a man. She took what she thought she deserved and Clay couldn't fault that.

"Can I stay at the clubhouse instead?" Grace voiced an idea that she would have preferred to live out, due to its logistical advantages. After all, the thought of riding bitch with Clay regardless of stripes that littered the vicinity between her lower back and upper thighs was less than appealing.

Widening his eyes in a mock anger, Clay reprimanded her: "Really young lady, after your recent episode, you're going to break the rules again?" Clay's light hearted smirk was a welcome respite from the serious hiccup she had just experienced. He continued, escalating his witticism further, "What is rule nine, girl?"

Playing along Grace adopted the role of the obedient, innocent girl. "Sir, I can't explain how sorry I am. I don't know what was going through my head, I promise it won't happen again. Please don't tell daddy!" Grace, totally committed to the scene bowed her head staring at her shoes in supposed 'shame'.

Clay ended the falsehood, the smirk falling from his face but softened expression remaining: "Seriously, I need to keep an eye on you, for tonight at least. Besides Tig's the only one staying at the club." Hazel raised an eyebrow, curious as to what Clay's previous statement. "Tig, alcohol and you are not the best of combinations especially after your earlier advances. Leaving you here would be a fucking stupid decision."

Grace only nodded. Everyone new that Tig was a horn dog – a loveable pervert but a sex pest none the less. God knows what he would try with her when the where no other Sons to make sure he kept his wondering hands to himself. However, the idea of her goods being pressed into an old man's back while her thighs where flush against his was far from appealing. She needed to find an alternative. "Can I at least walk to yours? Cause I urm…" Hazel hesitated not wanting to let Clay in on the second reason she didn't to ride bitch with him.

Clay smirked catching on quickly, "Cause it hurts, right?" He smirked further, adding the obvious fact that would throw a spanner in the works: "Gracie, I live 3 miles from here."

She sighed in response. That was it. She knew she hadn't a leg to stand on. "Okay, fine." Once again she sighed: "Just please avoid any bumps."

"You got it princess." And with that Clay downed the remainder of his beer, grabbed his prepay from the bar and slapped Tig on the back as he walked towards the exit. Grace fell in behind him as they crossed the parking lot to his Harley. Handing her a spare helmet, Clay swung his leg over the fuel tank and waited for Grace as she did the same, albeit a little slower with considerably more wincing. With a nod from Grace, Clay turned the key making the engine roar to life as they pulled onto on the road to Gemma and Clay's house. A road which unfortunately for Grace was pox marked with cavernous potholes.

As Grace and Clay rolled up into the concrete driveway leading up to the house, she saw the net curtains part revealing Gemma as she peered out, a confused expression adorning her face. By the time Clay had parked up, Gemma was leaning in forced supposedly casual stance against the frame of the front door which was ajar.

"Clay?" Her unspoken question obvious. Never the less she continued, "What's our girl doing here, baby?" Gemma addressed her second husband but brushed her eyes over Grace who stood meekly astride the motorcycle.

"I'll explain later honey, she'll be with us for a couple of days." At his statement both women raised their eyebrows and Grace spoke out, becoming volatile once again.

"A couple of DAYS?!" An enraged Grace reached new levels of anger as Clay merely nodded dismissing her statement like one would ignore something a young child spewed and gestured at her to go into the morrow house.

"Wait, you said for tonight, I've got school on Monday and I need stuff from Dad's."

"Just get your ass inside, we'll talk later." Clay spoke tersely, quickly switching from patronising to irritated. He turned gesturing to the collection of flickering blinds surrounding the property.

Almost growling with anger, Grace spat out a reply, "Fine." Turning on her heel Hazel stormed towards the house leaving a confused Gemma and a sighing Clay.

Raising her eyebrows, Gemma put her hands against Clay's chest, under his cut and massaged the area for a moment before slowing withdrawing. "Come on, baby, we need to talk."

Clay followed his wife, fixating on the swishing of her hips as she walked up the path to the house. He sighed this day seemed like it wasn't going to end.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The trio reassembeled in the kitchen and with a deep breath all prepared to speak. However one voice spoke over the angry mumblings of the other's. In no mood for what had the promise of an argument on an apocalyptic scale, Gemma raised her voice over Clay's which due to his power and deicbel ability was no mean feat. "Wait till morning. We're all tired and now is not the time to start screaming and shouting.".

Both Clay and Grace stopped their argument but said nothing more, neither of them wanting to admit to the fact that Gemma was right.

Clay shifted after a moment of silence, placing his right foot fowards and adjusting his stance by resting his arthertic hands on his hips. He then proceeded to bore his eyes into Grace with a warning glare. "Do as you're told and maybe I'll put your early departure up for a vote." As he spoke his index finger punctuated the end of each word with a sharp thrust in Grace's direction.

"Fine." Grace replied neither obviously curtious nor disrespectful.

With a final warning glance Clay stomped off through the spacious hallway which was painted in an assortment of neutral but warm colours to what Grace assumed to be his and Gemma's bedroom.

After Clay's somewhat hasty departure the two females were left with the weight of an awkward silence. Despite Grace being well known by the other club members and affiliates, Gemma wasn't too well acquainted with the youngest of Piney's offspring. This was quite surprising as Gemma considered Opie to be a second son to her due to all of the time Ope and Jax spent at each other's homes not even pretending to do their assignments during the years they were at school. However, recalling back the past, Gemma realised that most of the club events she was involved in never had Grace on the list of attendees and rightly so, club parties were no place for innocents.

"So, you wanna sit down and let me sort out that face?" Gemma asked as she turned to pull various vegetables out of the refrigerator, gesturing towards her with a carrot, then placing them onto a chopping board which was riddled with knife marks indicating it's frequent and heavy use. The boards abused condition didn't surprise Grace from a distance all she knew was it seemed that a lot of what Gemma did was make meals for the boys. In fact, although she hadn't gotten to know Gemma as well as she knew some of SAMCRO, what she saw was that the matriarch never really stopped working or helping out the club whether it was working in the dingy office of Teller-Morrow 9 till 5 or planning, cooking and serving at regular meals that she hosted for the club and it's family and lending a hand in any situations where she was required.

"Um, no thanks," Grace brushed off Gemma's offer with what she hoped was a casual refusal. "I'm sure I'll be fine - it's just a couple of scratches."

Even Grace could hear the obivious lie through her words. A couple of scratches? Both Gemma and Hazel knew that to be complete bullshit - they were quite deep and the one on her cheekbone was still slowly but shorly leaking blood.

"Babe, if you don't get that sorted, your face is gonna end up lookin' a complete mess." Gemma replied, raising her eyebrows as a dare to Grace to contradict her. Still Grace stood static neither wanting to sit down nor admit that Gemma was undeniably right.

Even though Gemma was focused on peeling assorted vegetables she could sense Grace's reluctance and that arguing with Opie's sister was not going to make any progress. "Top right cupboard at the back – antiseptic wipes, band aids. Bathroom's third door on the right." Gemma gestured down the hall with the shinning blade still garnished with the remains of a carrot.

After 30 seconds in which Grace still hadn't moved, Clay's old lady looked up to the confused face that was staring at her. "Go on, go clean your face up. I'm sure you can manage."

Bewildered still, Grace jumped to it. She wasn't really practised at listening and following orders. Living at Piney's just meant 3 basic things - do what you want (within reason), keep the house clean and keep food in the fridge and liqour in the cupboard.

Once the Queen of the Sons returned to slicing, Grace hesitantly walked to the counter and slowly reached upwards to remove the kit from the confines of the cupboard – her face remaining guarded in spite of the muscular inferno encased by her leggings.

Without event, Grace proceeded to the bathroom past 3 shut doors, one with the remnants of a 'keep out' sticker tarnishing the painted wood; she assumed that belonged to Jax, who at the age of 18 was close to moving out and into the clubhouse, a permanent pussy haven, which of course she wasn't supposed to know this but the whole town was aware.

With a firm shove the bathroom door clicked shut and Grace let out a sigh as she bolted it and her fascade swept from her face.

With her momentary lapse of strength quickly rectified, Grace pushed all her thoughts away and focused soley on the simple task which layed in front of her. She let out a hiss as a cold wash cloth she had dampned met with the smarting flesh but continued to soldier on. After applying salve and consiquently dealing with the increase in pain due to the contact, Grace brought her attention to her face.

She chuckled. As she stared into her own reflection she understood she was a sight for sore eyes. She looked like a train wreck. Blood had crusted into her eyebrow and her lip had swollen siginificantly giving her the aura of a thug.

But soon enough Grace and removed all the residual blood adorning her face and aided by cold water, had brought her lip's swelling down a little. Grace then put her hands through her hair a little trying combat what the wind had done to it on the ride to Clay's house.

Looking as respectable as she could given what tools she had at her disposal, Hazel exited the haven of the bathroom to find Gemma.

Still where she was standing 20 minutes ago, Gemma was now drinking a cup of coffee whilst gazing out of the window at some riviting shubbery. To obtain the matriarch's attention Grace cleared her throat. Immediately Gemma's focus was brought to the girl standing in front of her. After a short moment of silence, Gemma spoke, "That looks nasty." Gemma gestured to the swollen lip and busted brow. Grace smiled an awkward smile and was just about to reply until Clay walked in.

"That ain't the worst of it, is it girl?" He turned to face Grace, with the usual eyebrow raised. Both Mr Morrow and wife stared at Hazel a questioning look on their faces.

What seemed like centuries past and still Grace remained silent. Despritely wanting to avoid talking about what she had dubbed 'the incedient' in her head she refused to give details: "No it's not the worst of it." In order to escape the tension Grace went back to her safe house - the bathroom, locking the door behind her and leaving a trail of confusion and intrigue behind her.

"What are you on about, Clay?" Gemma demanded, hating the fact that the truth was being hidden from her. "What does 'that ain't the worst of it' mean?" Clay shrugged grabbing a beer from the refrigerator door.

"Gemma, baby, it's probably better you ask her directly." He reached over and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek and then added, "To be honest she probably needs a hand in there." He gestured with his now opened beer to the bathroom door. "Someone needs to take a look at it and it's not exactly appropriate for me to do it."

"Okay, babe." Gemma agreed making a move towards the bathroom, whilst Clay gave her a quick slap to the ass to help her on her way.

Gemma walked down the hall and stopped outside the bathroom door, taking a deep breath then gently knocking on the door as not to startle the girl. "Gracie, baby, it's Gemma honey, let me in." Gemma spoke gently but with no opportunity for disobedience in her tone. She heard the door unlock but it remain closed, so she pushed lightly on the door, stepped inside and then locked the door behind her.

The sight she was met with shocked her, Grace was stood next to the bath, head hung low in her t-shirt and panties, her leggings long forgotten lay discarded on the floor. "Gem…" Grace for once was lost for words.

"It's okay baby, just show me." Gemma spoke calmly with a gentle but firm tone. So Grace turned slowly to show the matriarch the collection of welts which spread from lower back to upper thighs. The sight which met Gemma's eyes shocked her greatly and she struggled to supress a gasp as she trailed her eyes over the red, angry bands at the top of her thighs. What shocked her even more was the thin banded blood stains on Grace's panties. "Grace," Gemma almost whispered, "honey, I'm gonna need to see all of it, they drew blood baby, I need to take a look so we can get sorted." Gemma spoke slowly and calmly, controlling her emotions and her shock.

Grace complied, pulling her underwear down to her knees flinching as the cotton rubbed the raised welts. She was glad Gemma couldn't see the amount of times she winced as she took her panties down and attempted to keep up a front; "Gemma, it's fine, it'll heal," she quietened her voice, "I deserved it anyways, was askin' for it." And with that she righted her underwear and moved past a confused Gemma, to put her leggings back on. Grace then raked her fingers through her hair, placing it back into a practical pony tail. As quick as it had been revealed her emotions were back in check, the mask reinstated.

Gemma caught her arm as Grace was about to exited the bathroom and entered back into the kitchen, "Not so fast baby girl." Gemma was back in control, the initial shock from the remnants of the girl's beating cleared. "You're gonna tell me what you did and who you pissed off to earn a beating like that," she paused considering her next move, "then you're gonna let Chibs take a look at that."

Grace immediately began to protest "Gemma, no." when she saw that outright refusal wasn't helping her cause she changed tack and started to grovel a little, "Gem, please, it'll heal fine by itself Chibs doesn't need to take a look at it, there's nothing wrong with it."

Gemma chuckled, "Seriously girl, you were beaten till you bled. I would have taken you to St Thomas but I don't want to bring any more heat on the club, we have a bad enough reputation as it is let alone adding child abusers to the list." Gemma continued glad that the girl was rational enough to appreciate when she had been beat _quite literally in this case Gemma though wryly_. "Therefore I want chibs to take a look, make sure there ain't gonna be no permeant damage, make sure you'll heal properly. Okay?"

Grace conceded there was nothing else she could do, being the rational and logical girl she was she couldn't deny Gemma's rationale. Although she tended to brush matters concerning her own health under the carpet, preferring to repeat the mantra 'you'll be fine, get over it', Grace couldn't ignore the pain she was still in nor the sight the stripes across her ass.

Gemma went about making Grace and her a drink. She made herself another coffee but decided that Grace, with her eyes glazed over probably needed something stronger to remedy her frayed nerves. "I'll be back in a sec baby." She spoke softly to Grace who showed no other sign to acknowledgement other than a slight nod.

Gemma then continued down the hall to Clay's office knocking three times lightly before asking; "Clay, honey, can I come in?"

She was met with a reply instantly, "Sure baby." And thus with his permission she entered and set about telling her husband what she had seen in the bathroom. She thought it best to leave out details so merely commented, "Clay, it was really bad," still unawares as to who had punished the club's baby girl she said, "whoever it was, they drew blood, honey." At this point Clay looked up surprised, he knew it had been a hard and thorough beating after all he was present when it was metered out, but he hadn't thought it had been that bad, after all the girl barely made a sound throughout.

Gemma's voice brought him out of his musings, "I was just about to get her to tell me what happened." She reached forward to grab the decanter which was filled with a golden amber liquor.

"Whatcha doin' with my brandy, woman?" Clay asked ask Gemma plucked a tumbler from the tray.

"She's gonna need something to settle her nerves a bit, Clay." She explained, he nodded in response.

"Are you gonna come out and listen to her version of events?" Gemma asked, a subtle suggestion that he should in her tone.

Clay looked up at his wife, "I guess I should, I'll make sure she don't leave none of it out." He sighed as he raised himself out of his office chair, taking the bottle of brandy from Gemma, leaving her with the glass and walked out into the kitchen where they found Grace studying photos of Jax and Opie as boys.

Clay poured her a small glass of brandy, set it in front of her and instructed her to drink it. Once she began nursing the glass, Clay sat in his customary seat at the head of the table and Gemma settled alongside him whilst Grace remained stood. After a moment of silence, Gemma looked to Clay who merely nodded, before meeting Grace's gaze, "Spill."


End file.
